


By Your Words

by firefright



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Threats, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 23:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12310023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: It's just Jason's luck that his attempt to take a night off from crime fighting results in an assassin coming to kill him in his own home. What's a little more surprising, though, is that assassin turning out to be his soulmate.





	By Your Words

**Author's Note:**

> Second JayDick week fic here! For the Day 7 prompt: Talons/Father Todd. I went back and forth a bit with what I wanted to do for this one, but eventually decided just to focus on the first half of that prompt (with the added bonus of soulmates).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

When the window to his modest one bedroom apartment shatters inwards, Jason’s first reaction isn’t fear or surprise like most people’s would be, but instead a particular sense of anger paired with exasperation. 

There goes his hope for what should have been a rare quiet night in.

Throwing himself forward out of his armchair, he just barely avoids the needle thin dagger thrown at his head. It embeds itself into the soft cushion like a knife slicing through butter, and Jason hates to think what that would have down to his skull if he’d remained sitting where he was.

Thankfully, the lessons Bruce drilled into him back when he was just a kid remain as sharp as ever. Both in terms of reacting to a threat and being prepared for the eventually of one even before it strikes. Jason tucks and rolls, dropping his book — a torrid love affair he’ll never admit to reading to anyone — to one side, before ripping free the gun he keeps taped to the underside of the coffee table and bringing the barrel round to point at his attacker.

The man (at least, Jason _thinks_ it’s a man), is clad head to toe in a black leather bodysuit, inscribed with gilded brass and gold. There’s a hood over his head, and his eyes are covered with large round goggles. Two sprigs of metal rise up from the corners of those goggles, and a sharp triangle descends from the bridge of them, giving the man the somewhat creepy appearance of a giant owl. An impression that’s helped by the sharp claws positioned at the ends of his gloves and boots.

Jason’s seen a lot of strange things living in first Gotham and now Bludhaven, but this, this is _new._

His first shot is dodged easily, as is the second. The man moves like liquid shadow, even in the lit space of Jason’s apartment. It should be easy to hit him in such close quarters, but somehow his attacker evades him at every turn, and Jason feels his frustration grow as the seconds stretch out, before — with an impossible leap — he soars forward across the room, landing on top of the square coffee table and kicking the gun out of Jason’s hand before slamming him back against the wall with a knife to his throat.

It’s really not his best performance.

Jason glares even as he freezes in place, driven by survival instinct and the sensation of sharp metal against his neck not to move a single muscle. Except of course, the one that most often gets him in trouble: his mouth. He begins to speak, to _demand_ what’s going on. But before Jason can get even so much as a single syllable out, his attacker interrupts him.

“Jason Todd, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”

He barely has the time to process that grim pronouncement, and the oddly delicate burning sensation across his chest that accompanies it, before his own reply slips out. 

“The Court of what _now_?”

Which is when the assassin jerks away from him, even more impossibly fast than he attacked. The knife in his hand clatters to the floor, and he almost trips backwards over the coffee table as he clamps his right hand around his left forearm, body language instantly turned from dangerous and predatory to something else. Something almost like…

_Fear_ , Jason thinks. He’s confused at what could have possibly triggered it, but more than ready to take advantage of the moment. At least until he notices the direction in which his assailant’s goggle-covered eyes are now facing; directly down at Jason’s own chest.

It’s stupid, leaving himself open to another attack, but something prompts Jason to look down as well; the delicate burning sensation he felt across his skin a second ago, perhaps. Summer temperatures in Bludhaven meant that he’d neglected to wear a shirt on top of his loose sweatpants this evening (because if he can’t go barechested in his own home, where can he?), a choice that allows Jason to instantly see and understand why it is his attacker came up short on actually murdering him so suddenly.

There are words. Round, looping, childish letters in black ink beneath his collarbone. From Jason’s perspective, they appear to be written upside down, but he still manages to read them easily enough, and understand their chilling message.

_The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die._

Oh, he thinks numbly, with a sickly sweep of dread running down his spine. _Oh_.

Jason’s gaze shoots back up to the assassin, who is still clutching his left forearm tightly. There’s a definite shake to the man’s shoulders now, and Jason would bet his life that underneath the gauntlet he’s wearing are written the words _The Court of what now?_ in his own blocky script.

He almost wants to laugh, because of course. Of course his soulmate would be a man sent to kill him. That’s just Jason’s luck. His life has never been sweet words, gentle touches and a chance meeting of eyes across the space of a flower-filled ballroom. No, instead it’s blood and knives and who knows what else lurking underneath that dark hood. That’s the life Jason was born into, and the life he’d subsequently chosen for himself even after Bruce tried to offer him a way out. Why on earth should he expect anything different when it comes to meeting his soulmate?

For a moment, all they can do is stare at each other, shock radiating across the room from both sides. Time feels like it’s slowed to a crawl as Jason tries to decide how to move forward. But then, before he can actually make a decision, his assailant begins to shake his head, taking yet another step back towards the window. “... no.”

“Sorry?” Jason replies, blood pounding in his ears from an excess of adrenaline that now has nowhere to go.

“ _No_.” Is his apparent soulmate’s repeated reply, louder this time, and amplified by a shake of his head. He keeps stepping backwards, moving until his hips hit the edges of the broken window. “No, please. Please, you can’t be…”

“Whoa,” Jason holds up his hands, resisting the urge to look down and make a grab for either his fallen gun or the assassin’s knife. The other man is still plenty armed, and Jason doesn’t know if he’d be fast enough to do both that and avoid another attack should it come at the same time. Better to wait and see where this is going first. “Whoa, hey, I’m not exactly on cloud nine here, either, you know. But you don’t have to—”

“Y-you can’t… can’t be..” Jason watches, stunned and more than a little fascinated as the assassin suddenly tears at the gauntlet covering his left forearm. Fighting with the straps and buckles in a way that seems more hindrance than help. Jason almost feels like he should be telling him to stop, but he wants the visual confirmation of what’s under there as well. Proof that it’s not just some unfortunate one-sided phenomenon on his part. So instead of interrupting he stays quiet and lets the man work.

Black and bronze metal fall away beneath clumsy fingers. The assassin’s black leather glove is ripped off his hand to reveal white skin, neatly trimmed nails, and — once his sleeve is pulled up — the words, _Jason’s_ words, inscribed on an equally pale forearm.

Well, there’s definitely no denying it now.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, reaching up and ragging a hand back through his hair as he tries to process the bizarre turn his night has taken. But his reaction is nothing compared to the assassin’s, who lets out a faint moan at the sight. He clutches his forearm, rubbing the still clawed and leather-clad fingers of his other hand over the words like he can make them disappear, and then violently shakes his head when they fail to do just that. 

Not exactly a reassuring reaction.

Feeling like he should try to at least gain some kind of control over the situation, Jason steps forward, putting his hands back up in the universal ‘Don’t shoot’ sign. “Hey,” he says, eyes fixated on the continued motions of the man’s hand, then louder when that first attempt at hailing him is ignored, “Hey, assassin!”

His shout is enough to get through the obvious panic taking the man over, and Jason winces as he suddenly recoils, the claws on his left hand slicing into his own flesh as the assassin stumbles further back along the length of the window away from him. Glass cracks beneath his feet, and Jason may not be able to see the the man’s face, but he can still read the fear in his reaction well enough. It’s a startling difference from the liquid death he appeared to be when he first broke into Jason’s apartment.

“Who are you?” Jason takes the chance to demand, “What are you doing here? Why did you break into my apartment?”

There’s a chance that this assassin came for him because he’s Jason Todd-Wayne, not Nightwing, and if that’s the case Jason needs to be careful about what exactly he lets slip. The gun he can explain away as the paranoia of a former Crime Alley street rat. Anything more than that he really doesn’t think he’s in the right frame of mind to lie sufficiently creatively about.

There’s no reply. Nothing except for the increasing shake of the assassin’s shoulders, and Jason curses inwardly, even as he slowly lowers his hands while keeping his expression hard.

“Come on, you were talking just a minute ago.” He raises an eyebrow, trying not to pay attention to the slow drips of blood now spattering his floor. “Don’t play dumb now. Answer me. Give me a name. _Something._ ”

The assassin tilts his head, then turns it downwards, ducking his goggle-covered eyes to the floor like a cowed child. Jason wonders what it is that’s going on underneath that hood, and has to restrain his sudden urge to leap forward and rip it off the man’s head to find out.

“Talon.”

“What?” It’s said so quietly Jason almost doesn’t hear it.

“My name,” the man repeats in a nervous voice, “It’s Talon.”

_Talon._ That’s not a name, Jason wants to say, it’s a title. More than that, there’s something about the word that nags at him; an inkling of familiarity, though he can’t quite remember where from. 

“Talon,” he repeats softly, looking to calm the man down now that he has his attention, before he can do anymore damage to himself than he already has, “Okay. Well, Talon, I’m Jason. Though I guess you knew that already. And…” he swallows, “Shit. I guess I’m your soulmate.”

Talon flinches, and Jason reaches the swift conclusion that he really doesn’t like that reaction. It reminds him of the way a beaten dog will twitch when its abusive owner raises their hand. 

“Sorry,” Talon says, with far too much sincerity for the short time in which they’ve known each. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, I—” Jason starts, struggling to find the words he means to say. “I didn’t mean… I’m not... not angry with you for it. For you coming to kill me, sure, but not for that.”

Soulmates are just… they happen. They happen, that’s all. And as unfair as it seems sometimes, it’s nobody’s fault who the cosmos decides to pair them up with. God knows Jason would have some sore words to say if it were, given some of the matchups he’s seen. Lashing out at individual people is far easier than shouting at an uncaring universe.

Well meant though his words are, they seem to do little to soothe Talon’s frazzled nerves. He flinches again, and shakes his head just as violently as before. “No, you don’t… you don’t understand. I was sent to kill you, but when they find out this happened...”

“What?” Jason asks, narrowing his eyes, “What will they do?”

But again Talon seems to not be listening to him, he reaches his hands up, clamping his fingers into the sides of his hood — which is an improvement at least on him digging his claws into own arm. “I can’t… I can’t… oh God, why did they have to send me after _you_? Why not one of the others. Why not—”

“Talon!” Jason snaps, using his name now that he knows it. He tries not to let his mind spiral into all the worrying possibilities that ‘others’ could mean. “You need to calm down, okay? Calm down and talk to me. Tell me why you’re here; why this ‘Court’ of yours wants me dead.”

Talon freezes, “I can’t. If I did, they’ be furious. They’d...”

“Well apparently you can’t kill me either, else you would have done it.” Jason says, as kindly as he can manage, “So I figure they’ll be pissed either way.”

Talon ducks his head down then, refusing to meet Jason’s eyes.

He restrains a sigh. Apparently that was the wrong approach to take. “Look, whatever you’re scared of, whatever it is you think they’re going to do now about—” he waves his hand over the words on his chest, “— _this_ , I can help you. But I need you to talk to me first. Explain what’s going on.”

“Why would you do that?” Talon asks, still staring at the floor where he remains cowering on the other side of the room.

“Because you are scared.” Jason answers honestly, “And whatever reason there is behind why you came to kill me tonight, I’m getting the impression that it wasn’t one you chose. More than that, I…” he swallows hard, “Christ, no one should be afraid of meeting their soulmate. And that’s what you are, my soulmate. So I… so yeah, I want to help you.”

He waits a minute, and when no further reply comes from Talon sighs for real.

“Okay look, it’s your choice what you do. Kill me, talk, or leave. I’m not gonna force you either way. But when you do make your mind up, I’ll be in the kitchen. I… I need a drink.”

Jason turns his back on him then, in what may be the stupidest, most brazen show of trust he’s ever made towards someone who’s tried to kill him in eight years of being first Blackbird, then Nightwing, and walks out of his living room and into the kitchen. Because he lives alone, and he’s in Bludhaven, he knows he won’t have to worry about anyone coming to the door to ask about the broken window or even the gun shots — though he does wonder why none of the listening ears keyed into his security system have called him yet.

Bruce would chew him out if he knew Jason was doing this. Would tell him he should have taken advantage of the opportunity to capture and tie the assassin up so he could force him into answering his questions. But he just couldn’t, not after seeing that fear in Talon’s reaction, alongside everything else.

In the very top cupboard of his kitchen, Jason keeps a bottle of bourbon. It’s the only alcohol he owns, and he very rarely partakes in it. Tonight, however, is a special occasion, and at least the taste will do something to help clear his head out.

It isn’t until he hears the crackle of glass embedded in the bottom of a shoe that Jason knows he’s been followed.

“Want one?” He offers Talon, after he’s poured himself a glass. “You’ll have to take that hood off, though, since I doubt you can drink anything through it.”

Talon hesitates as Jason turns to look at him. “I…” he looks down, then up. For a moment, Jason doesn’t think he’s going to take the bait, but then Talon turns around, surprising Jason by first switching off the kitchen light he so recently turned on, then reaching up with both hands, and — after fiddling with some hidden catches around his neck — removing his hood.

Jason doesn’t know what kind of face he’s expecting to see underneath it, but it’s certainly not the one he finds. 

Talon is… beautiful, at least so far as Jason has the measure of these things. Thick black hair frames a smooth, boyish face. He has tapered chin, straight nose, and cheeks that look like they would dimple when he smiles. Even Talon’s unnaturally pale skin can’t take away from that first impression. Nor can the bright yellow eyes with slit pupils that are definitely the part Jason finds most surprising about him (and immediately suspects are the reason he turned off the light).

He swallows, suddenly finding his mouth to be very dry. “So… drink?”

“You’re Nightwing.”

And there’s his answer to the big question of why Talon was sent for him. “Yeah,” Jason doesn’t bother to deny it, another big no-no on the sliding Bat scale of Ways to Fail the Uniform. “How do you know that?”

“They told me, the Court.” Talon says, slowly, like each word is its own treachery, “That’s why they sent me for you.”

Jason lifts the glass and takes a large swallow of bourbon. It burns going down, but that’s just as well. Gives him something else to focus on, at least for a moment. “Why, did I do something to them?”

Talon raises his shoulder in the tiniest shrug. “I don’t know. I… they don’t tell me such things.”

“Just point you at a target and say go, huh?”

This time Talon doesn’t answer him, just looks at the floor instead.

“Right,” Jason mutters, “Right, okay.” He takes another swallow, finishing the glass. “And I guess this—” he gestures at his chest again, “—throws a big old spanner in the works. For both you and them.”

“I’m not allowed to have a soulmate.”

“Not allowed?” Jason echoes, incredulously. “I…what does that mean, ‘not allowed’? They do know how the universe works, right? There’s no allowed about it. Everyone has a soulmate, whether they want one or not.”

Sure, not everyone _finds_ their soulmate in their lifetime, or is happy with the match when they do (see his own parents as the prime example). But everyone has one, that’s an indisputable fact.

“I’m not allowed.” Talon repeats, as if he hadn’t spoken. “They’ll still expect me to kill you, no matter what.”

Jason forces himself to soften his tone, draw back from his innate outrage. “I’m guessing by your reaction you don’t want to do that.”

Talon closes his eyes. “Killing your soulmate is wrong.”

_Killing anyone is wrong_ , Jason wants to say, but he holds the words back. Somehow, he doesn’t think they’d help in this moment, and he doesn’t want to do anything to chase Talon away from him now that he’s chosen to talk. “So what will they do to you if you don’t follow through?”

It’s the same question he’d asked earlier, and the one Talon hadn’t wanted to answer. But this time Jason is hoping he’ll have a little more luck in getting a response.

Sure enough, he does.

“They’ll punish me.”

“Punish you.” Jason repeats, pursing his lips. He certainly doesn’t like the sound of that, “How?” 

Talon shivers, a whole body shudder. “Retraining, until I am willing to do it. Or if I continue to refuse…” he closes his eyes, “Retirement.”

Jason knows enough about assassins and the groups who rely on them to interpret what that means. “Shit.” he hisses, “Sure you don’t want that drink?”

Talon shakes his head again, choosing instead to wrap his clawed hand around his bared wrist and squeeze his fingers over the already dried blood and soulmark there.

“Okay.” Jason puts the glass back down on the counter next to the bottle of bourbon. “Okay. That’s okay. We can… we can figure this out.”

“Figure it… out?”

“Yeah. You don’t want to kill me, and as much as I’m still pissed that you tried in the first place, I’m not going to stand by and let them do any of the shit you just described to me to you either. My soulmate or not, that’s barbaric.” 

Talon gapes at him, the most clear expression Jason’s got so far that isn’t fear. Then he shakes his head, instantly withdrawing back into himself, “You can’t stop them.”

“Hell I can’t,” Jason answers at once. “I’m Nightwing.”

For a moment, he could swear he almost sees Talon smile. Or maybe that’s just a trick of the light from the street outside. Whatever it was, it’s there and gone in a flash, before being replaced once again with carefully measured blankness. “The Court of Owls is everywhere, and they have other weapons than just me.”

“Then I’ll fight those other weapons, too, if I have to.” he says, without hesitation. “You caught me off-guard tonight, but now I know this Court exists and is sending people after me—”

“After all of you.” Talon corrects him.

Jason freezes, “What?”

“They sent us out after all of you. Every vigilante in Gotham.”

“I’m not in Gotham.” Jason says, confusedly.

“No, you’re not.” Talon doesn’t argue, “But you are an ally of Batman.”

_Oh God_. 

“You couldn’t have said that to me earlier?!” he exclaims, voice rising into a near shout.

“You didn’t ask.” Talon replies, as if that’s all there is to it. He flinches back in the face of Jason’s sudden ire, but Jason is far more caught up in the terrible possibility Talon’s words imply to apologise for it, even if he does end up feeling a little guilty.

His mind argues that Bruce is… well, _Bruce,_ so of course he’ll be all right. Jason’s heart, though, is far less pragmatic, however distant from the old man he might be these days. Not to mention the others. Cass will probably be okay, so will Steph, but Barbara and Tim…

“Shit,” he curses, “Shit.”

Jason runs back out of the kitchen and into the living room. The door directly ahead leads to his bedroom, and he doesn’t hesitate to barrel through it. Next to his bed is a hidden panel in the wall, he presses it, and steps back as the equally hidden door beside the panel slides open to reveal all his Nightwing gear and weapons.

The light switching off again behind him lets Jason know he’s been followed, but he doesn’t rightly care about letting Talon see all of this. His attempted killer already knows his identity and where he lives, one more small secret won’t hurt. Probably.

“Jason…” Talon says hesitantly, and it’s the first time he’s called Jason by name since giving him both his soulmark and his death sentence, but Jason has no time to pay attention to it now. He strips out of his sweatpants, then pulls out his armour and starts to get dressed — in too much of a hurry to be in any way self-conscious about letting Talon see him naked but for a pair of boxer shorts.

“I’m going to Gotham,” Jason informs him. “If what you just said is true, that means my family is in danger. I have to help them.”

When he turns back around, Talon is watching him with attentive yellow eyes.

Jason continues, “You’ve got two options. Either stay here and hide until I come back, or come with me.”

Talon hesitates, “You’ll… let me?”

He doesn’t specify which option he means, so Jason answers for both of them. “I meant what I said about helping you. If you don’t want to kill me, and you don’t want to face what the Court will do to you if you go back to them after failing your task tonight, then I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. But I gotta protect my family as well. I’d like it if you’d come with me, your knowledge of these guys would help a lot. Though I understand if you rather wouldn’t.”

Talon’s eyes drop down to his chest, reading the words written over Jason’s collarbone before he zips up the suit and covers them. “You’re my soulmate.” he answers.

Jason pauses in the midst of fastening his gun holsters to his thighs, “That a yes?”

He can see the bob of Talon’s adam’s apple down the pale line of his throat before he answers. “You can really protect me? From them?”

“My family can,” Jason promises him.

“And… if we win, what then?”

Jason blinks. In all the rush to get ready, he’s had exactly zero opportunity to think that far ahead. “Then… then we’ll figure it out from there, I guess. Not that I’m expecting anything from you,” he quickly clarifies, “And you don’t owe me anything either, just because you’re my soulmate. But we’ll figure it out, depending on what happens tonight and what you want to do after.”

“What I want to do?” Talon parrots, eyes wide again, as if the idea has never crossed his mind before.

“Yeah,” Jason says, “What you want to do.” He finishes fastening his gun holsters, then slides the weapons themselves — loaded with rubber bullets — into them. His jacket, filled with extra gadgets and smoke pellets, follows next, before finally the pièce de résistance: his domino mask.

Talon takes a small step back when he sees Jason in it, reacting a little like startled prey.

“If you’re coming, go get your gear back on.” Jason encourages him, “I’ve got a call to make before we leave.”

After one final moment of hesitation, Talon turns round to do what he says, steps so smooth he appears to almost glide across the floor as he disappears back into the living room. Jason finds it harder than it should be not to watch him go.

Taking a deep breath, he thrusts a comm unit into his ear and flips it on, rotating the tiny dial until he hits one of the family’s open channels. Then, in as steady a voice as he can manage, begins to speak.

“To anyone currently listening, this is Nightwing. I’ve been attacked by an assassin working for an organisation called the Court of Owls, and tonight I have reason to believe they’re coming for all of you as well.”

*

“I still can’t believe you didn’t recognise the Court of Owls.” Tim says to him, two days later. After all the chaos and violence is done with, and they’ve emerged out the other side of yet another Gotham crisis, somewhat shaken, but alive. “Everyone knows the Court of Owls.”

“Well forgive me for not remembering a nursery rhyme I haven’t heard since I was six, Tim.” Jason grumbles. His eyes are focused across the cave, where Talon is currently sat, in the midst of a conversation (read: interrogation) with Bruce. He itches to be over there with him, but the old man had insisted that he talk to Talon alone. “I was kind of focused on other things.”

“Like meeting your soulmate?” Tim asks, eyes sharp as he observes him from his customary seat in front of the cave’s computer.

“Yeah,” Jason mutters, “Like that.”

It still feels surreal, even now. He has a soulmate, and with everything else that’s gone on, he and Talon have barely had time to discuss the wider ramifications of that fact. Not when staying alive had been a much bigger priority.

“He’s handsome.” Tim offers.

Jason snorts. “Handsome isn’t everything, Tim.”

“No,” his best friend agrees, “But it’s not a bad starting point.”

“Our starting point was him trying to kill me.” Jason points out, darkly.

Tim rolls his eyes. “You really are the most pessimistic person I know.”

“After all this time, that really shouldn’t surprise you.”

He and Tim had met several years ago, back in Gotham Academy when Jason was still attending school. Tim is three years younger than him, but maybe even smarter than Bruce. He’s also funny, and kind, and Jason had instantly connected to him in a way he never had any of the other rich kids in the school. As a result, they’d become fast friends, albeit with some bumps along the way. Tim revealing that he knew Jason’s secret identity during a classroom hostage situation had been one of them.

“It doesn’t, and I know why you think that way, but it’s also thanks to that attack on you — and finding out that you’re soulmates — that we were able to stop the Court of Owls. If you and Talon hadn’t connected the way you did that night, and given him the strength to defy their orders, not all of us might be alive today.”

Jason sighs at Tim’s factual reasoning. He has a good point, but that still doesn’t make it completely easy to accept that his soulmate is an assassin, one who’s probably killed dozens of innocent people on the Court of Owl’s orders before he met Jason. “Yeah, I guess. I just… I just wish out of all things this could have been easy. For both of us. It’s not even what he’s done, it’s what he’s been through; he’s hurt, Tim. That’s clear to anyone. What they did to him to make him the way he is now… I don’t think we even know the half of it yet.”

What details Talon has let slip so far have been disturbing enough. Not to mention what they saw in the Court of Owls headquarters. The labyrinth…

Jason shivers.

Tim’s hand touches his arm, “A good thing it’s you he landed with then, isn’t it?” he smiles, “I don’t know anyone in this family better at helping traumatised people than you.”

“Yeah, you say that, but…” he cuts off as Bruce turns away from Talon, standing up and walking towards them. “Well?” Jason demands impatiently, as soon as he’s close enough, protective despite his admitted misgivings. “What’s the verdict?”

“He’ll need keeping an eye on.” Bruce says, “But I don’t think he’s dangerous on his own. Everything Talon’s done prior to now seems like it was motivated by the Court’s orders and a desire to survive, rather than by his own will.”

“Shit, you only gotta look at ‘im to know that, B.” Jason says, tugging his fingers back through his dark hair. “Guy’s been through hell.”

“Agreed,” Bruce says smoothly. He looks at him, in that particular way that means he’s going to say something he thinks Jason won’t like. Jason can already feel his lip starting to curl back in anticipation of an argument. “That said, are you sure you want to—”

“He’s staying with me.” Jason cuts him off, ignoring the patented ‘I told you so’ look Tim is giving him as he says it. “So long as that’s what he wants, it’s happening, B.”

“You don’t have to take him in just because he’s your soulmate, Jason.”

“I’m not.” Jason bites back immediately. “I made him the offer.” Maybe a little thoughtlessly at the time, but still, he did. “And I’m doing it because he needs help, no other reason. He deserves the chance to live life like a normal person after all he’s been through.”

“There are other options. Facilities with people specifically trained to help—”

“Did you make him that offer?” Jason asks sharply.

Bruce doesn’t bat an eyelid, “Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

“That he wants to stay with you.”

“Then that’s all there is to it.” Jason states, “He made his choice, and I’m not going to take that away from him.”

He pushes away from the computer console, stepping around Bruce and effectively putting an end to the conversation. It only takes a minute to cross the cave to where Talon’s still sitting, perched on the edge of one of the folding chairs Alfred brought downstairs earlier, with a mug of hot cocoa clasped between his hands.

There’s a smudge of chocolate at the corner of Talon’s lip, and Jason struggles mightily with the urge to lean down and wipe it off with his finger. “Hey,” he says softly instead, sinking down into the other chair Bruce so recently occupied.

Talon looks up at him, as if he wasn’t already aware Jason was there. “Hello.” he replies, voice something just barely above a whisper.

Ever since they took the Court down, he’s been in something of a state of shock, and Jason supposes that makes sense. They’d had absolute control of Talon’s life for so long; he doesn’t think that once throughout the entire time they’d been facing them (and the undead zombie Talons the Court had brought out so they could achieve their goal of killing the whole Bat family in one night) he’d really believed they’d had a chance at winning. And now with his former masters either dead, in jail or hiding, facing that reality is proving to be a whole new challenge for him.

“Sorry about not being here earlier, Bruce insisted on talking to you alone.” Jason sighs, running his fingers back through his hair. “He wasn’t too hard on you, was he?”

Talon shrugs his shoulders. “It was fine. He just talked, that’s all.”

“About anything interesting?”

“He asked me if I could remember anything from before I was Talon. He said maybe he could help me find my family.”

Jason admittedly hadn’t even considered that possibility yet, “And what did you say?”

“I told him there was no point. My family is already dead.” Talon glances down at the mug in his hands. “The Court only takes orphans to train. Children no one will think to look for.”

Knowing Bruce, he’s probably still running D.N.A tests on Talon to find out who his family was despite his wishes, but Jason wisely doesn’t say that. “I’m sorry, Talon.”

“It happened a long time ago.” Is Talon’s answer. “I don’t think about it a lot anymore.”

“But you do remember?” he can’t resist pushing, “Who you were before?”

“Some of it,” Talon says warily. “It’s… blurry. I was supposed to forget. The Court always told me my past didn’t matter, only my future, with them.”

“Well, the Court’s gone now. That leaves you free to remember anything you want.” Jason rests his arms across his legs, leaning forwards. “Be whoever you want.”

Talon shakes his head and looks down at his hands. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know if I know how to be anything but this anymore.”

Grim, but…. “Well, that’s what you’ve got me for.” Jason tells him, pulling a smile onto his face. “I’m going to help you figure that out. Maybe we could start simple. Like your name, for example.”

“My name?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, “Your parents couldn’t have named you Talon, that’d be way too portentous.”

“No they… they didn’t.”.

“Well then, what did they call you?” Jason encourages him. “Do you remember?”

Talon licks his lips, but still misses the smear of chocolate on one side. He’s not looking at Jason suddenly anymore. Wherever his gaze is, it’s somewhere distant. Somewhere far, far away. When he speaks, it’s in a voice that’s a little hoarse, a little uncertain. Mixed with suppressed emotion and with the air of one letting slip a closely guarded secret. “Dick,” he whispers, “They called me Dick.”

“Dick,” Jason repeats softly. It’s more old fashioned than he expected, but the gravity of the situation holds back any other reaction he might have except gratefulness at being trusted to hear it. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Dick.”

Talon—Dick’s breath catches in his chest when Jason uses his name. He blinks rapidly, and Jason thinks his eyes might be a little wetter than they were before. “It’s okay.”

Jason fights the urge to reach over and take his hand, gripping his fingers into the fabric of his pants instead. “Bruce said you still wanted to come stay with me, at least to start with. That true?”

Dick nods shyly. “Yes. Is that okay?”

Jason lets his smile widen, “Yeah, of course it is. I didn’t make that offer lightly, y’know.”

The relief that passes over Dick’s face then is a little heartbreaking to see. With Bruce’s talk of facilities and hospitals, he must have been scared that he’d be locked away if Jason changed his mind. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

They look at each other, and Jason feels the urge to wipe the chocolate from Dick’s lips even more strongly than before. He swallows. Dick really is attractive, damn Tim for pointing that out. It also drives home to Jason the importance of making his next point.

“I figure we should set some ground rules, before we go.”

“Rules?” Dick replies, uncertainly.

“Nothing major,” Jason hurries to assure him, “Just a couple things I want you to understand while we live together.”

Dick chews his lip, but nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Jason holds up a finger, “Number one is the big one; you don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to. Or do something I say just because I said it. You’re a free man now, and you’ve always got a right to say no to me or anyone else. You get me?”

“I can say no.” Dick repeats, to prove he’s listening, though Jason’s not sure how much he believes it. But that’s okay, the lesson will sink in with time (he hopes).

“Number two,” he holds up a second finger, “Like I said the first night we met, we’re soulmates, but that doesn’t mean you owe me anything, or vice versa. It doesn’t even mean you gotta like me, and I don’t expect anything from you because of it either. Right now, all I want to do is help you figure out is how to be you. Then, after that, what you want to do with your life now you don’t gotta be Talon anymore.”

Dick cocks his head, blinking slowly like the Court’s namesake. “But I do like you, Jason.”

Despite himself, this innocent remark causes Jason to blush hard. “Well, I uh… I’m glad. I like you, too. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make, the point is—”

“We don’t owe each other anything.” Dick says.

“Yeah, exactly.” Belatedly, Jason realises that Dick cut him off before he was done talking. A sign of improvement already? Maybe. “I’m glad you understand me.” He clears his throat, “I think… look, I’m going to be honest, I don’t know if I’m going to be the easiest person for you to live with. Sometimes I’m an asshole, especially in a morning. I may not be around all the time, either. Bludhaven keeps me pretty busy, most nights. Plus I got a day job I gotta go to. But if you can tolerate all that, and me, then.... then I think we’ll do well enough.”

An almost smile. “I can handle it.”

“Good.” Jason says, clapping his hands together. “Then you ready to get out of this cave?”

“Yes.”

After Jason assures Dick that it’s all right to leave his mostly empty mug on the chair for Alfred to collect, they head over to where his bike is parked next to the Batmobile. It’s already loaded with a bag containing a few sets of Jason’s old clothing, pulled out of storage in the hope that they would fit Dick, and give him something other than the old Talon armour to wear until Jason has the opportunity to buy him some outfits of his own.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” he says, when they near it.

“Sorry?” Dick echoes him, “For what?”

“For the words I gave you.” Jason busies himself with pretending to check over the bike before they get on it. “I know they’re not the most poetic thing to have written across your skin for the rest of your life.”

“Better than a threat.” Dick says quietly, eyes dropping down to Jason’s collarbone, where his death sentence remains covered by his uniform.

Jason shrugs, this time smiling in a way that’s much more genuine. “Are you kidding? These words make me look like a _badass_. I’m glad you gave them to me, especially since you didn’t follow through.” He straightens up from the bike and turns around. In the process, he discovers that Dick is suddenly a lot closer to him than he first thought. Jason swallows at the proximity of those gold eyes to his. “Dick?”

Dick doesn’t look away from him, and Jason is keenly aware of Tim and Bruce over at the computer right now, though not so much as the thud of his own heartbeat.

“I’m glad you gave mine to me, too.”

The air leaves his chest in a rush. Jason rolls his shoulders, attempting to ease the knot of tension that’s suddenly there. He doesn’t stop himself this time, reaching up and wiping off that sliver of chocolate from Dick’s mouth with the pad of his thumb. Dick’s eyes widen, and his breath catches, but he doesn’t jerk away either.

“Come on,” Jason says, in only moderately strangled tones, “It’s been a long couple of nights, let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/).


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